The Universal Language of Food

Posted on Wed Oct 21st, 2026 @ 7:28am by Lieutenant JG Alessandra Sheffield [Lalor] & Lieutenant Commander Tate Sullivan Ph.D. & Major Addison 'Rico' Leyton [PPC] & Lieutenant Myne Redal & Lieutenant Heather De La Rosa [PPC] & Lieutenant J'airesh Mora-Heath & Lieutenant Damien Blackford & Captain Samuel Woolheater & Lieutenant JG Elias Hale

Mission: Season 6 - Episode 8- The Price of Home
Location: Aureate Spire Reception
Timeline: MD 1 — 1900 Hours
1951 words - 3.9 OF Standard Post Measure

The Aureate Spire was already filling by the time the junior members of Elysium’s crew began filtering into the reception. For once, they hadn't been brought somewhere to repair something, investigate something, defend something or evacuate something. They had actually been invited. The distinction was worth appreciating. Beyond the enormous windows, Zyphera IV filled much of the sky, its white-gold light reflecting from the station and the hundreds of vessels moving through the surrounding traffic lanes. Inside, the room was a mixture of cultures that most of Elysium's crew would not have recognised eleven months ago. Rin’thar. Varn. Ael’ven. Zypheran. Lorahn. And dozens of others.

A soft chime sounded through the room. Conversation faded as Rhael’ta Zovrenn stepped onto the central platform. “Honoured guests.”
Her melodic voice carried easily across the gathering. “Welcome to Zyphera Prime.” Her amber gaze travelled over the assembled guests.
“You have been invited here because tomorrow you will begin discussing matters of considerable importance.” A pause. “Tonight, however, the Concord has made the somewhat radical decision that you should first discover whether you can tolerate one another for the duration of a meal.” Scattered laughter moved through the room. “Tomorrow there will be agendas. Tonight there are none.” That statement probably depended upon one's definition of agenda. “There will be no formal negotiations this evening. No motions. No votes. No commitments will be recognised as binding by the Zypheran Concord.” Another tiny pause. “For the reassurance of several delegations, I am informed this includes commitments made after consuming beverages from the Lorahn table.” That earned considerably more laughter. Rhael’ta lifted her glass. “Circinus has no shortage of borders. Nor grievances. Nor histories explaining why cooperation is impossible.”

Her gaze briefly found the Starfleet contingent. “Perhaps this evening we might begin with something considerably less ambitious.”

A beat. “Conversation.” She raised her glass. “To new conversations.” Around the room, glasses rose. And with that, apparently, diplomacy began.

Or, for several of Elysium's junior crew, dinner did. Because there were apparently some things that remained universal across galaxies.
One of them was standing in front of a buffet table wondering whether something was actually food. The small reception plate beside one particular dish identified it as:

VELARI BLOSSOM PODS
Suitable for most humanoid species.
Mild stimulant.
May produce temporary changes in colour perception.

Underneath, the translation system had helpfully added:

DO NOT CONSUME MORE THAN THREE.

Which immediately raised the question of what happened if someone ate four. Nearby, another dish appeared to be moving.

Not much. But definitely moving. A young Zypheran server noticed the collection of junior Elysium personnel hovering uncertainly near the table. “You are permitted to ask what things are,” she offered pleasantly.

A beat. “Although sometimes it is better not to.” She smiled and moved away. Leaving the table — and its questionable contents — completely undefended.

Addison looked at the food, especially one plate as the center piece was a long, cylindrical shaped.,. Bread? Tentical? "Tell that's not a deep fried tentical," she gave a disgusted face.

Sam had been studying the Velari Blossom Pods. Specifically, he had been studying the warning beneath them. DO NOT CONSUME MORE THAN THREE. That was an oddly specific number. One was apparently fine. Two, presumably, remained within acceptable diplomatic parameters. Three was apparently still legal. Four? Four was where the Zypheran Concord apparently decided somebody needed to intervene. Sam was still considering the implications when Addison spoke.

“Tell me that's not a deep fried tentacle.”

His attention shifted to the offending item. He stared at it. The thing was long. Cylindrical. Golden brown. Crispy-looking. And, yes. There was an unfortunate curl at the end. Sam's lips started to turn upward. A little breath escaped through his nose as he looked from the alleged tentacle to Addison's expression. He tried to hold it. He really did. The grin won. “Okay.” Sam leaned slightly closer to the buffet without touching anything. “First of all, Major, I don't think we have sufficient evidence to establish that it's a tentacle.” His eyes were smiling now. “Could just as easily be the other end of the critter. Might be a tail. That's probably the optimistic option.”

Woolheater looked around the collection of Starfleet officers gathered near the table, then back at the food. “Come on. We crossed galaxies. We've been shot at, kidnapped, blown up, chased around Circinus and generally introduced ourselves to half the quadrant by getting our asses kicked. Hell, back home we're probably on the back of milk cartons, and out here we're probably on somebody's most-wanted list. Somewhere there's probably an Elysium crew Halloween mask.”

He picked up one of the empty plates, head cocked slightly to one side and that ridiculous grin still spread across his face, “We are not getting defeated by dinner.” He pointed toward the alleged tentacle. “So somebody's eating that.” His gaze moved around the group. “But it ain't gonna be me.” The grin spread wider. Then his attention drifted back toward the Velari Blossom Pods. DO NOT CONSUME MORE THAN THREE. Sam's head tilted. “Although…” He picked up one of the pods and inspected it. “What I really want to know is what happens at four.”

"Well, let me know if you go for four, so I can stand on the opposite side of the room in case your stomach explodes," she joked, grinning as she picked at what appeared to be apple slices. At least she hopes it was apple slices

Heather stood looking at the options. “I suggest we observe the warnings, who knows what eating more than three of those might do. From a medical point of view I urge caution if you’re not sure what to eat.”

Sam looked at Heather and slowly lowered the pod. “Doctor, your professional opinion has been noted and I am returning the pod to its basket with thoughts of the better part of valor.”

His eyes swept across the gathering and landed on a face he didn't know nearly as well as most of the others. Flight Control. Ltjg Elias Hale.

Perfect.

“Lieutenant Hale.” Sam pointed at him with his now empty hand. “You're Flight Control. Your entire profession is based on going places sensible people wouldn't.”

He nodded towards the food table. “Flight gets a vote. Three is the warning. Four is apparently where science happens.”

A look and a challenge, “You feeling brave, Lieutenant Hale?”

“Don’t let my opinion put anyone off I was just urging caution is all” Heather smiled. “We can’t be rude and avoid eating.”

"True, but nothing wrong with being especially picky," Addison replied, before taking a small bite of the fruit slices that she had picked. The flavor and taste instantly caused her face to scrunch as she fought the urge to spit the food out. "Water," she croaked out, looking for a glass of water to wash away the taste.

Heather was quick to pour out a drink and hand it over. “Here you go, it’s a fruit flavoured drink, but it tastes alright.”

Standing just a few paces away from the rest of the group, but still within earshot, Tate surveyed the buffet and cut snippets of the conversation around her. The counselor didn’t blame any of them for being reluctant and more than a little irritable. After all, the last time emission started off with a diplomatic welcome, it ended with many of them incarcerated, herself included.

Tate wasn’t going to pretend that a series of counseling sessions could magically erase all of that in time for their next adventure, but she also knew it was important to not allow that experience to color too much how they interacted with people, places, and now things, they had encountered. Whispering softly, but still keeping her voice loud enough enough to be heard, she offered, “We have reason to be gun shy, and reason to be feeling more than a bit resentful of being told what to do, but I really don’t want to explain to the captain that one of you ended up in sickbay today because a little placard dared you.“ Sullivan then reached for the fried tentacle like thing, and breaking off a piece, she put it in her mouth. Someone had to break that particular ice.

J'Air was very tentative about what she was going to eat, not because there was necessarily anything wrong with any of it but more because of her own medical condition and no desire whatsoever to endanger her growing fetus. She avoided the tables containing the 'watch how many you have' kind of warnings and found her way to one with a few items she recognised, grazing lightly just in case. When there had been toasts and alcoholic drinks circulating, the Elysium's ACMO had insisted on water in a wine-glass so she would look diplomatically as if she were joining in.

Addison gratefully took the glass from Heather, downing most of the drink in one go.". She took a much relieved breath of air. "Thank you, Those slices are bitter to put it lightly, Wouldn't recommend them."

Woolheater thought he might see steam come out of the Major's ears. Satisfied that Addison hadn't cooked her taste buds, Sam watched Sullivan actually take a bite of the alleged tentacle. He pointed at her. "And that is why Starfleet has counselors."

Despite the seriousness of her earlier words, when Sam responded, it was all taken, could do not to laugh. Considering the counselor‘s mouth was full with a surprisingly delicious piece of what reminded her of earth calamari, she decided it was better to focus on not choking to death. when she had sufficiently swallowed her food, she looked over at Heather just to give herself the peace of mind of knowing she was all right.

With that, Woolheater surrendered his place at the buffet. There were only so many tactical decisions a Marine officer could reasonably make about hors d'oeuvres. With the voice in his head pronouncing it "horse duvers," he stepped away with a polite nod.

Plate in hand, he drifted away from the Elysium cluster and into the reception proper. The room was full of people they knew almost nothing about. There was an alien there with three heads. There was another that looked like a big-ass Wookie. That, Sam decided, was considerably more interesting than dinner.

His attention settled on one of the uniformed members of another delegation standing nearby. The insignia meant nothing to him, but the bearing did. Some things apparently survived translation across galaxies. Woolheater approached, stopping at a respectful distance. "I'm pleased to meet ya'. Samuel Woolheater. Starfleet Marine Corps." He glanced back toward the buffet. "And apparently a survivor of first contact with dinner." A faint grin. "Mind if I join you?"

Damien was standing off to one side, a plate of what seemed similar enough to Earth food in hand. Most of the food was enjoyable enough, but he was particularly wary of any food that carried a warning label. Whilst he was sure the delegation had done their best to ensure that nothing was going to be especially dangerous to Humans, one could never be too careful. He watched the tentacle debate with amusement, and found himself walking over to the table. "How is it?" He asked Sullivan.

Tate had finished chewing her food and had finished a sip of water when Damien spoke to her. She turned and offered energetically, "It actually tasted pretty good...a lot like calamari, in fact, if you're familiar with that?"

[OFF:]

Captain Samuel Woolheater
MXO - Spartans - 62nd Detachment